


Crash and Burn

by Higgystar



Series: Working out Differences Universe [7]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, sharyl, working out differences AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:11:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the wonderful Saya from a while ago. Daryl is in a car accident, Shane tries to keep calm through it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash and Burn

They’d been following Daryl in the jeep, Rick driving and Shane in the passenger seat as they made their way back to the prison. Each trip back and forth between their safe home and the remains of Woodbury was tiring, but the supplies were worth it and they were finally managing to get the prison resembling something more than just four walls and a roof. They’ve found more than enough fuel to make it worth it, so Daryl’s got the car in front stocked up and they’re following with their own load behind him. To be honest, it’s actually one of the more peaceful days that they’ve had in a while and the promise of being able to settle into the prison more when they return with their supplies only makes it feel better.

Of course, they never get to have a good day.

He’s talking to Rick, just joking about how they’d somehow managed to find enough pink items to really get Judith’s crib covered in the colour and have people stop assuming that she’s a boy because she’s so bald. Then it happens, there’s a bang, loud and unexpected before them and the car they’re following veers to the right with a blown tyre. The car that Daryl’s driving.

It’s like Shane’s heart clenches in his chest, it gets hard to breathe and he’s reaching out, grabbing at Rick’s arm for some kind of anchor as the panic flows through him. His best friend is swearing as he hits on the brakes, their jeep sliding to a halt and he can only watch as the car before them screeches about on three tyres and a blowout. It veers across the road, sliding into a ditch and rolling until it’s wedged against a row of trees in the mud. Shane can’t breathe, let alone think as it finally crunches to a stop, front crumpled, wedged deep and with no movement from within.

He’s afraid, so totally afraid of what the hell has just happened and it’s Rick that snaps him out of his daze. His best friend is opening the door to the jeep, yelling for him to wake up and move. So he does, like an electric shock has struck him, suddenly he’s wide-awake and moving with Rick at a sprint towards the wedged vehicle. His heart is pounding, he’s calling Daryl’s name as they get to the car and he can already see blood smeared on the cracked glass as he tries to open the passenger side door, the only one they can get to.

Rick is with him, both of them yanking at the door, finally wrenching it open, practically off of its hinges so they can get inside. He has to climb a little where the car is jammed almost on its side, so he uses the rest of the vehicle to support his weight as he tries to get inside of it to reach the other man. “Daryl?” He calls his name, trying to get a reaction, but the other man is so damned still in the driver’s seat where he can see him. No seatbelt, no one saw a reason for them now there were no real traffic hazards and the need to sometimes get out fast and away from walkers, but now it had backfired on them.

From what he can see, Daryl has clearly been bashed about in the crash. He’s slumped against the driver’s side window, head dripping blood down his face, Shane can see he’s cut all over and there’s a deep wound on his thigh that’s going to need some attention. But he can’t see any limbs looking out of place, nothing looks broken and he’s so grateful for that. Bracing himself he squeezes himself through the broken vehicle, trying to shove aside the various supplies that have come loose and gotten in the way. Around him the car creaks where it’s wedged, Shane has to brace himself on the blood smeared, cracked window screen and it makes something inside of him tremble when his hand comes back sticky with Daryl’s blood.

“Daryl?” Again there is no response, and now he’s getting even more worried. Shane doesn’t want to hurt the other man, but it’s not like they could sit and call out an ambulance for him. “Daryl, come on man talk to me.” He calls out, reaching across the front seat to press his fingers to his partner’s neck. Shane doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until he’s letting it all out in a relieved sigh when there’s a pulse against his fingers. He knows the rules about vehicle accidents, he knows not to move a person unless they’re in immediate danger, and all that is going around his head is the rules he knows; wait for EMTs, fire crew to cut the vehicle open, neck braces and back boards to keep the victim immobilised. But that doesn’t work anymore and he’s so fucking lost.

“Shane?” Rick calls from outside and it brings Shane back to the reality of the situation.

“He’s alive.” He replies, voice loud enough to reach his friend and to hopefully get Daryl to wake up. “But he’s hurt Rick, he’s hurt bad, I dunno how we’re gonna move him without hurting him.” But he knows they’ve got to. The amount of noise and the scent of blood was going to be drawing in walkers soon enough, and Daryl needs medical help as soon as possible.

Shifting as close as he can, Shane cradles Daryl’s head, trying his best to keep him stable, to not move his neck too much and potentially cause more problems. They’ve not got the time to do this properly, but it’s got to be done and it’s got to be done now. There is no way he’s going to be able to move Daryl and keep him steady, so he was going to have to risk it, because he knows he needs to get Daryl out of here and back home where he could get fixed back up.

It hurts to see him like this, his usually so active partner is still and quiet, smeared with blood and in need of medical attention. He knows that it’s a risk, but it’s one he has to take. Both he and Rick can’t fit in here, so it’s going to have to be him for the moment, until he can get Daryl outside where Rick can help him. Taking a steadying breath, Shane reaches to grab beneath Daryl’s arms, taking as much of his weight as he can and gritting his teeth to stop himself from groaning as he moves Daryl’s bulk. The other man doesn’t weigh as much as he does, but he’s dead weight, and that makes all the difference.

No not dead weight. He cannot think of that word right now.

It’s hard work, but he is as careful as he can be not to jostle Daryl about too much, not to hit him on any of the shattered glass or jagged metal twisted about them. It’s about as spacious as a rabbit warren, and there is not enough space to really move, but he squeezes through, wraps his arms around Daryl and cradles his partner’s head into his shoulder as he works his way back out of the smashed car. He can feel the warmth of Daryl’s blood seeping into his clothing, it makes him grit his teeth harder and try to move faster until he’s getting one foot onto solid ground and can feel Rick’s hand against his side.

“Help me.” He hisses, and it’s a sign of how much he’s grown that he doesn’t care how weak his voice sounds. Shane is not a man to beg, he’s not a man to plead, but right now he’d drop to the ground and lick Rick’s boots if it would make him help right now. But Rick doesn’t need that, because Rick is his brother and he knows, he fucking knows how he’s feeling right now. “Please, God Rick help me.”

There is blood on his hands, staining his fingers as they move between them to get Daryl out of the car, to get his body stable enough between them that they can move safely. All he can smell is blood staining him, and it makes his stomach tighten in fear as it all goes through his head. Daryl is still unconscious, head against his shoulder and not making a damned sound, all Shane can hear is his heartbeat in his ears and it’s scaring him. But Rick is there beside him, taking his share of Daryl’s weight, moving with him, his free hand on Shane’s lower back. His brother is there beside him, helping him get Daryl to the jeep and Shane wonders if this is what it had felt like when Carl had been shot.

He remembers that panic, he remembers feeling like his heart had stopped beating and Shane had thought it was the scariest thing he’d ever have to go through. He was wrong. Because when they get to the jeep and Rick is helping him get into the backseat and then passing Daryl into his waiting arms, Shane feels terrified.

Rick doesn’t comment on the worry on his face, his brother simply gets into the driver’s swat and begins driving them as fast and as safely as he can back home. The supplies press into Shane’s side, but he doesn’t care about a single thing they’d picked up today. Because the only thing he cares about losing is in his arms.

Daryl doesn’t even stir. He’s out cold, blood drying on his temple as he’s cradled in Shane’s arms, mouth open, but still breathing, with his heart still beating and Shane knows that Daryl isn’t going to let this be the end of him. His partner is too damned strong for this to be the end. It almost makes him laugh a little, because he knows, he just fucking knows that as soon as he wakes up Daryl is going to be cussing at them for making such a fuss. But right now he’s still out, and Shane cradles the back of his head to keep him steady as Rick drives them home.

“I got you.” Shane mumbles to the man in his arms, keeping him close, ignoring the blood drying under his nails and instead hiding them in Daryl’s hair. He doesn’t look peaceful, he just looks out of it, and Shane hates that. Usually when Daryl sleeps he looks calmer, there is no scowl, he just looks calm. But right now he still looks tense even if his body is still loose limbed and cradled to Shane’s chest closely. It hurts something inside of him to see Daryl looking so wrong.

He’s going to need stitches, bed rest and God he hopes the whiplash and concussion isn’t too bad. Not that he doesn’t think Daryl can handle it, but he knows Daryl won’t be doing that. His partner doesn’t exactly do bed rest very well. It makes him smirk to remember how he’d been at the farm, when he’d been stabbed with his own arrow and arguing that he could go and hunt the next damned day. Hershel had put his foot down and heck even if he’s only got one left; Shane knows he’ll do the same again to keep Daryl from overworking himself. He knows they’ve got this covered. They have been through so much together; this was just another bump in the road.

Fortunately Rick knows that they’re desperate right now, and it doesn’t take long to get them to the prison, to safety, to home. He’s never been so grateful to have backup like Rick. There is no questioning from Rick, never has been. As soon as Shane had let him know about his and Daryl’s relationship, there had been nothing but blind acceptance for them both. Rick loves entirely, and despite everything he’d ever thought about the man during those shit few weeks after his return from the dead, Rick still loves him. He’s never been more grateful for that fact.

They get driven right up the buildings, the people around them opening and closing gates, taking care of the walkers and giving them no other worries except the one occupying his entire being right now. Daryl is still unconscious. As soon as the vehicle stops Rick is there, opening the door and taking Daryl’s weight from him so he can move. It feels like a blur to him, there are questions, Carol is there, Carl is there but Shane cannot focus on a single one of them when Rick helps him take Daryl up into his arms to be carried inside.

It’s not a position that Daryl would ever let him get away with if he was conscious, he’d probably be huffing and hitting him to let him down. It’s why it only enhances how wrong this whole situation is for him. Daryl’s head lolls onto his shoulder, Shane ignores how much he weighs and cradles him behind his shoulders and knees, uncaring of the strain as he heads inside as fast as he can. People are already calling for Doctor S, but Rick is shouting for Hershel too, well away of where Daryl’s preferences lie.

Shane doesn’t even have to think, people are ushering him through, those who barely know them standing aside, the Woodbury people that had come to them rush about for medical supplies, but their family are the only ones that follow them into the cell. He knows Daryl hates being the centre of attention, but right now Shane feels the need to have everyone here, because he might need to draw on their strength for a while.

Lowering Daryl to the bunk that’s been placed in the centre of their medical cell, he wants to be there because he knows Daryl and he knows how he panics if Shane isn’t there when he wakes up. But Michonne is there, placing a hand on his arm and gently moving him away a few steps, enough for the Greene girls to get to Daryl’s side and begin helping him. He feels unsteady suddenly, as if the shock from the crash has just hit him now and he’s running a hand through his hair as he tries to explain. “There uh…there was a blowout.” Shane tells the room, unable to focus on anybody but the man lying on the bunk. “The tire just went and uh… the car just…” His voice trails off, nobody asks, he doesn’t know if he could answer anyway. It’s not important.

There is the telltale clicking of crutches on the ground that signifies Hershel’s arrival but Shane can’t seem to focus on anything but Daryl. Other people come in and out of his frame of vision, but all he can see is someone he knows so well, someone he considers his entirely, still and bleeding on the bunk as other try to help him. There is the white of bandages; a flick of clothing being cut away and for some reason Shane knows that Daryl wouldn’t want his shirt off in front of all these people.

“No he doesn’t like that…” He tries to protest, but his voice is weak, Michonne is placing a hand on his outstretched arm and Shane hadn’t even noticed he’d been trying to intervene.

Hershel gives instructions, Carol is there helping, staunching the flow of blood from the wound on Daryl’s thigh and Maggie is cradling his head as Rick assists Hershel into a chair beside the bunk. They’re all working, talking to each other, sharing information and all he can hear is Daryl’s quiet breathing and his own heartbeat in his ears.

Michonne nudges at him, getting his attention for a moment and breaking him out of his trance. “Shane, you need to go wash up.” She points out and it’s only when he looks down that he remembers the blood on his hands, on his clothes, in his hair from where he’s been running his fingers through it. “Take a minute to clean up, by the time you’re done they should be finished.” She nods to the workforce around Daryl and already Shane can see that their work is helping. Maggie is checking the head wound, Beth is threading a needle and Hershel is pouring alcohol over the thigh wound before he begins stitching it up. He knows he’s not helping, if anything he’s in the way, but he still doesn’t want to leave.

“Come on.” Then Carol is there, placing her hands over his messy one, her grip so fragile but her voice so strong. “Let me help, then you can sit with Daryl.”

He doesn’t know why, but he follows, led by her loose grip out into the make shift family area where she grabs a towel, wetting it from their water butt and beginning to clean his hands. Shane doesn’t want to even know what he looks like. But he remembers at the farm, he remembers washing Rick’s hands and face of Carl’s blood and he can remember how broken his friend had looked. It aches inside of him and he can’t help but turn his head to watch the medical cell, just in case.

“He’s going to be alright.” Carol tells him, catching his attention long enough for her to wipe at his face with the damp towel, he doesn’t even care that he’s being cleaned up like a messy child. “You know how he is. He goes and gets himself hurt in the most dramatic of ways, and then complains about us being worried.” She jokes, and she sounds so damned certain, with a small smile on her face and that look in her eye that Shane admires. The one that lets him know that Carol is always right in the end. That she is Daryl’s friend and she wouldn’t give him false hope.

It helps. And Shane can blink himself awake from his daze and nod slightly. She wouldn’t lie to him, because Carol had heard the false hope about Sophia and she would never intentionally put anybody through that pain that she had experienced. So he nods, because she wouldn’t lie to him. “He is an attention whore.” He murmurs, the joke useless and falling flat beneath his tone of worry, but Carol still smiles to him none the less.

The towel washes away Daryl’s blood from his skin, Carol keeps him steady and acts as his rock, and brings him back from the verge of panic to concentrate on the now. It had been scary true, car crashes usually were. A lot of noise and a scene of crushed metal and smashed glass. But Daryl had only sustained a few cuts, some deep, some small. He’d be bruised that’s for sure, and it was worrying that he was still unconscious, but they’ve all suffered from injuries, maybe Daryl just needed a little longer to recuperate this time? He was in good hands at least, Hershel had saved Carl from being shot for Christ’s sake, this must be nothing compared to that.

Carol swipes over his face one last time, and he knows he must look better when she gives him a proper smile. “If he keeps this up he might even rival Rick’s waking from the coma.” She tells him, jest in her voice and her smile reaches her eyes, it occurs to Shane that maybe she hadn’t been worried for Daryl, but she’d been worried for him for a while there.

“Hey now that’s a record I intend to keep.” Rick heads over to them, leaving the medical cell and standing at Shane’s side. His brother in arms, the man he trusted with his life, and more importantly he trusts him with Daryl’s life too. Rick would not lie to him either, and if his brother is here and clasping a hand to his shoulder then he knows everything is going to be okay. “They’re stitching him up now. Hershel can’t find anything broken, can’t find any internal bleeding. He was lucky.”

Shane feels the deep sigh dredge up from inside of himself, as if he’d been on edge this whole time and finally he could relax the tiniest bit. That was good news. There was only so much they could do these days without scans and x-rays, but if it was all tissues damage they could deal. Not that he was glad of the fact, but Shane knows Daryl would probably be telling them all he’s had worse when he wakes up. They could deal with those sorts of injuries. It was truly going to be okay.

Rick clasps at his shoulder again, sharing his strength and Shane has never been so glad to have his friend by his side. “He’s going to have a concussion, and knowing Daryl he’s going to ignore Hershel’s orders for bed rest for the next few days.”

“I got it.” Shane tells him with a nod. He feels grounded, more himself, more in control of it all now. He knows that Daryl is going to be a grumpy bastard for the next few days, but he would rather deal with his bitching than the alternative. “I can handle him.” He tells them both.

They don’t disagree with him, Carol merely shares a smile with Rick as she wrings out the cloth, moving to begin getting rid of the blood that stains Rick’s fingers from where he’d helped move Daryl. It’s a moment of peace that helps him breathe, a second of normality in their crazy lives that brings it all into focus for him. Movement from the medical cell catches his attention and the Greene girls are heading their way with basins of red stained water and dirtied cloths that need to be washed and sterilised again. They smile his way, a small way of giving their comfort to him as they pass by. Hershel heads out with a click of crutches on the cold floor and Michonne holds the curtain aside for him to hobble through.

“He needs to rest.” Hershel begins, giving him a stern look that spoke of years of trying to control his patients into resting despite their own wishes. Sometimes Shane thinks it’s funny that Daryl prefers their doctor who specialises in animal care, the one who has dealt with skittish and frightened beasts that might lash out and certainly wouldn’t follow their aftercare instructions. The one who dealt with Daryl own recklessness with a sigh and shake of his head, instead of barking medical jargon at him and expecting Daryl to care. “At least a week if you can make him.”

There are a few snorts of laughter around him; everybody knowing exactly how well Daryl will take to that advice. Shane runs his now clean fingers through his hair, and he knows he’ll have to take a shower later on, but for now it can wait. “I’m gonna stay with him.” Shane doesn’t ask, because there is no question of where he’s going to be for the rest of the day, or the rest of the week if he can manage to make Daryl listen to him.

“I’ll need to check him over when he wakes up.” Hershel tells him and Shane nods in agreement but really he’s not paying much attention. Michonne holds the curtain aside for him, places a hand on his upper arm and gives a brief squeeze of reassurance before he moves past, letting her drop the fabric to give an illusion of privacy in the cell.

It’s the cleanest of their cells. Or at least as clean as they can make it. Medical equipment brought in from the medical wing, textbooks, tools, a lot of bandages and towels, even those shitty plastic chairs too. Beside the head of the bed hangs an IV bag full of fluids on a coat hanger, the line trailing down to where it is attached at Daryl’s hand. It’s not much, but it helps keep their patients hydrated and lower the complications that could occur from that. On the bed lies Daryl, bandages over the worst of the cuts, stitches lie beneath them and Shane knows it’s going to be a pain in the ass keeping Daryl from removing them himself when he deems it healed enough.

He ignores the shitty plastic chairs and instead moves to perch on the edge of Daryl’s bed, reaching out to shift the other man enough that he can get comfortable. It’s natural to pull his legs onto the bed, to lean back against the wall at the head of the bed and manoeuvre Daryl until the other man is in his arms. Whenever they sleep he has his arms wrapped around Daryl, it would feel wrong for it to be any different now. So he’s gentle, careful of the IV and Daryl’s wounds, but soon enough he can hold him close, and he can feel Daryl’s heart beat through his chest. It’s the most comforting feel in the world.

“You are gonna be so pissed when you wake up.” Shane tells him, one hand cradling Daryl’s body as the other strokes through his hair idly. He knows Daryl is going to complain, he’s going to grumble about using up their medical supplies, about losing the other supplies in the truck and all through it Shane is going to tell him it’s not important. Daryl won’t listen. He’ll grouch and go against Hershel’s advice until Shane is keeping him in bed by force and a tight grip. But it will make Daryl pout, make him grumble and make Shane laugh at how childish he can be when he knows he’s misbehaving.

Resting his cheek against the top of Daryl’s head he can feel each breath the other man takes, the gentle rise and fall of his chest making his whole body move with the motion. If Shane closes his eyes he can time it, count away the minutes with each breath and know that it’s another minute that Daryl is alive and in his arms. He is still worried, but it’s the constant lingering worry that comes of having someone he cares about so much alive in this chaotic world they now inhabited. Shane hangs onto that worry everyday because it means that Daryl is still alive.

“I’m not gonna be letting you drive for a while.” He muses, voice quiet in the cell, well aware of how little privacy there is in this place, but sure that his family are giving them all they can. “And no riding around on the bike for a month. Not even inside the grounds.” Shane huffs out, fairly certain that there is no way that Daryl would agree to his terms, but knowing this is the only time he’ll be able to say them without being outright cut off. “You’ve got to stay in bed for a week Hershel says. But I’m willing to compromise for three days since I know there is no way you’d manage a week.”   
  
There is no reply from Daryl, his partner remains asleep, resting Shane decides, and he knows Daryl needs it. So really it’s good that he’s asleep. It’s a good thing that Daryl’s body is taking the time to heal, to cope with the damage done and make sure he can heal faster. For a while he just holds him, breathing in the scent that is a clash of pure Daryl and sterile bandages. But it just means he’s healing, means he’s going to be better sooner and Daryl would be laughing at him right now, rolling his eyes and calling him a pussy for being worried about him.

He can still feel Daryl’s heart beating in his chest, thudding strong and constant with no interruption or hint of a problem. It helps the worry caught in his throat, eases the fear a little, but not enough to stop the traitorous tear from slipping down his cheek. Shane sniffs back whatever pathetic noise is in his chest and blinks away the blurriness in his vision, tightening his grip on Daryl once more, just to make sure he is alright.

There is a tiny moan from Daryl’s lips, just a moment, a brief vibration that Shane can feel. Daryl’s brow wrinkles, the bandage stuck to it refusing to crumple and leaving the other man looking stuck between expressions. Shane can’t help but smile when Daryl murmurs in his arms, makes a noise caught between a groan and a huff and his eyes twitch a little as if he’s on the verge of opening them.

“Shush now.” Shane tells him, pressing a kiss to the top of Daryl’s head and settling them into a position more appropriate for sleeping. Daryl sighs, deep and tired but he doesn’t open his eyes, he just simple buries himself closer and Shane can feel when his fingers curl into the fabric of Shane’s shirt. “I got you.”


End file.
